I watch as Stevie’s body slightly trembles from a shiver, but her eyes stay glued down at her phone, avoiding eye contact with me.
“Got it, sweetheart?” I ask, needing the confirmation that I’m not crazy. That this is a two-way street. That she wants a night with me as badly as I want one with her.
The air is thick with tension and anticipation as I wait for Stevie’s response. The very subtle, almost nonexistent nod of her head is my confirmation, telling me that’s it’s going to happen, and it’s probably going to happen soon.
She ever so slightly melts into my body, her head resting on my chest. Leaning forward, I press into her as much as I can, needing to feel her, and needing her to know just how fucking badly I want her.
Stevie pushes her ass out subtly, rubbing against me, her hips moving in a small torturous circle, and I can only hope that the low groan I accidentally release is too quiet for anyone else to hear.
“Hey, Stevie?” Rio asks from behind me, startling us both.
The interruption causes Stevie to jump back and away from her phone, her ass rubbing against my dick even more. A quiet hiss escapes my teeth from the sensation, and there’s no chance in hell of hiding the hard-on I’m sporting because of it.
“Can I get a Gatorade?”
Rolling my eyes, I quickly turn to face the side of the airplane where the exit door is, needing to hide the fucking rock forming in my sweatpants.
“Sure thing, Rio.”
What the hell? She’s never that nice to me when I ask her to do her job.
“It’s in the fucking cooler, Rio!” I say much too loudly, completely frustrated. “It’s right there, man.” I motion over my shoulder to the giant white cooler less than a foot away from him. “Right fucking there.”
When Stevie’s eyes lock on the action happening in the front of my pants, her face sweeps with amusement. “Oh. So, you do know where it is?”
“Do not mess with me right now, sweetheart,” I warn, trying to readjust myself without my teammate seeing what I’m packing. But apparently, my warning isn’t all that stern because all it does is cause Stevie to chuckle to herself, fully satisfied with the effect her body has on mine.
15
STEVIE
I’ve almost successfully made it through this fourteen-day road trip without giving in to Zanders. But let me tell you, the purple vibrator I keep in my travel bag has really had to put in the work these last two weeks.
Every flight we are on tempts me that much more. At this point, even the way he asks for his stupid sparkling water makes me want to jump his bones.
I need to get laid, and I don’t think just anyone will do.
I locked myself in my hotel room in Philly, Buffalo, and Jersey. And here I am in DC, lying in bed, refusing to leave my room. I just have to make it through tonight, and we’ll be back on a flight to Chicago tomorrow evening.
And I’ll be home free.
At least for the time being.
I’ve succumbed to ordering my food via delivery apps to avoid leaving the safe space of my hotel. With our track record, I already know that if I so much as step outside, I’ll run into Zanders. The universe is testing me, willing me to give in.
And fuck, do I want to.
But I can’t. And not just because of my job, but because of the promise I made to myself. After Brett essentially used me for three years in college, I said I would never date an athlete again. And that means not sleeping with one either.
Right? Or is that some kind of loophole? That sounds like a loophole. That sounds like a really tempting loophole.
Since that night in Nashville two weeks ago, I couldn’t even tell you how many times I’ve gotten off to the image of Evan Zanders. Thinking about his beautifully sculpted body and the massive heat he’s packing down below has me clenching my legs together, trying to resist. I don’t think I’ve masturbated this much in my life, yet the ache and need are still there.
Reaching for my purple vibrator on my nightstand, I place it under the sheets and between my legs. The heavenly buzz fills my room as my favorite toy gets me even more wound up. It’s not going to take much. I’m almost there already.
Zanders devilish grin is playing in my mind, including the way I’d imagine his flawless body rolling on top of mine.
The image of his chiseled arms holding himself up above me while he thrusts in and out at a torturous pace. His chain that I wouldn’t mind hitting my chin as it dangled over me. And his voice—velvety, smooth, and confident. I bet that boy talks dirty in bed too.
I want him to talk dirty to me.
Buzzzzzz. Yes. So close. I’m right there. My chest is arched off the mattress.
Buzz. Buzz. Silence.
What the hell?
Looking down at the toy in my hand, I press the power button again and again, but it’s no use. It’s dead. And I didn’t pack my charger. I’ve never needed it on a road trip before, but then again, I’ve never gotten off this many times in a two-week span.
Are you kidding me? As if I wasn’t already pent up enough as it is.
My fingers. Those work.
Gliding my middle finger down my lower stomach until it grazes my clit, I push myself into my hand. Rubbing, teasing, circling.
Okay, this will do, but I wish it were someone else’s fingers doing the work. Someone else’s long, tatted fingers that just so happened to be decorated with gold rings.
Stop, Stevie. You can’t go there.
My phone dings on my nightstand, distracting me from the brink of my orgasm.
You’ve got to be kidding me. Tonight is not my night.
Unintentionally, I roll my eyes as I reach over to get my phone, and when I see whose name interrupted my moment, an audible grunt leaves my throat.
My ex of all of people is hitting me up, completely out of the blue, while I’m trying to get off to the image of the one person I shouldn’t be fantasizing about.
Brett: Hey Stevie, long time no talk.
Yeah, it has been a long time, as in not since I overheard you telling your teammates that as soon as you thought you were going pro, you were planning to drop me for the better options you assumed you had.
Brett: I talked to Ryan the other day about coming to visit. I didn’t know you were living out in Chicago now, but that’s awesome! And you’re flying with the Raptors? What is Evan Zanders like in real life? He’s my favorite player in the NHL. I’m planning on taking you to dinner when I get to the windy city. Talk soon.
Kill me right now. Kill me right fucking now. No way in hell am I going anywhere with Brett, and there’s absolutely no chance I’m going to introduce him to Zanders of all people.
Tossing my phone to the other side of the bed, I resume my position with my fingers between my legs, but it’s no use. The moment is gone.
Fucking Brett.
With a huff, I sit up, my back to the headboard, thoroughly pissed off that my ex had the audacity to text me so casually like that. He thinks I’m going to crawl right back to him the way I did countless times in college? He thinks he can keep treating me like his backup option, and I’ll be waiting for him? I don’t want to be anyone’s option anymore.